


Re-Forged

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Series: Protective Circles [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Bucky Barnes Is a Comics Nerd, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Choking, Conflict Resolution, Dom/sub, Explicit Communication, M/M, Polyamory, Recovery, Relationship Discussions, Romance, Steve Rogers is not that innocent, Sub Clint Barton, Top Steve Rogers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: “JARVIS, don’t let these idiots out of the apartment until they’ve at least saidsomethingabout their feelings to each other. And preferably about what they want out of each other now, not what they were doing in 1938 or whatever.”





	Re-Forged

**Author's Note:**

> This is about half plot, half porn, and focuses on how Steve and Bucky's relationship evolves in the context of Bucky's recovery, with bonus Clint because Clint is fun. There's a lot of world-building in the first story in this series, so you're going to want to read that first to know what's going on here. As far as where this would slot into the arc of Link by Link, it starts out between chapters 3 and 4, then skips to between chapters 7 and 8, and the part with Clint goes after Link by Link's ending.

The fourth time Bucky’s awakened from his admittedly very light slumber on Sam Wilson’s couch by Steve’s tortured screaming, he reckons he’s had about enough. 

“Steve. Steve!” The other man flails in the bed, trying to strike out at Bucky but getting twisted up in the covers, and it’s easy enough to hold him down as he comes awake, gasping. “You’re okay. You’re in your bed, you’re in Sam’s house, you’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you.” Steve blinks at him for a moment, until Bucky almost literally sees the light come on in his eyes, and he relaxes back against the mattress with a loud huff of an exhale. 

“That was a bad one,” Bucky comments, stating the obvious, as he releases his friend and lets Steve catch his breath, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, frowning. “Sorry I woke you… again.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Do you think it’d be better if you had company?”

Steve’s brow screws up, and Bucky has just a hint of a flash of memory, too fleeting to grasp onto. “Company?”

“Yeah. If I slept here in the bed with you. Would it help with the nightmares?”

“ _ Oh. _ ” Steve just stares at him for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed. “You don’t have to do that, Buck.” 

“I know that. Would it help?” 

“Uh… probably some?” Steve reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck as he scoots to sit up in the bed. “I don’t think they’d go away entirely. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, you know that right?”

Bucky allows him a little smile. “Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear, pal. I don’t mind."

“Really?”

Bucky nods. “As long as you get that I’m not ready for…” He makes a little broad gesture with his hand, encompassing  _ everything else _ , and Steve nods quickly, scooting over to make room. 

“No pressure. But… it’d be nice. If you’re comfortable.” Bucky manages not to roll his eyes at the overabundance of caution, as in truth he probably needs it, and shifts up to get his legs under the covers. It’s weird, sharing with a man he both barely knows and has known all his life, but the way Steve’s body goes lax and his breathing even after just a few minutes is worth it. Bucky can adjust.

~*~

The unspoken rule is, they don’t talk about it. 

If they end up clinging to each other in their sleep, most nights, Bucky can chalk it up to body memory and Steve’s smart enough not to say anything in the morning. They untangle themselves, go for a run, take turns in the shower. They never actually go to sleep like that, intentionally, but either Bucky or Steve or both is apparently a sleep octopus, and it’s not exactly preventable. It scares Bucky, at first, because he’s not exactly  _ safe _ , and he doesn’t want to recognize Steve as  _ target _ if he’s awakened suddenly for some reason. But after the first nightmare, where Steve is able to keep his arms pinned, keep him from getting leverage, until he gains awareness, Bucky starts to trust his subconscious ability to recognize Steve, even where his conscious mind sure as fuck doesn’t.

That intimacy disappears, though, when they relocate to the Tower, in their separate bedrooms, and it’s only JARVIS’s crisp, steady inflection that talks him down from the night terrors. He smashes a few pieces of furniture as a consequence, throws a knife into the drywall late one night. He doesn’t know how to ask Steve what his own nightmares are like, without Bucky to hold him and bring him back.

In fact, the Tower is mostly a geography of frustration, no matter how much Bucky is supposedly “recovering steadily” (his therapist’s opinion, not his own), until Sam sits Steve’s punk ass down in Bucky’s kitchen and forces the two of them to talk to each other. Without the nighttime intimacy created by their unconscious comfort with one another, Steve’s daytime fumbling is even more awkward, and Bucky doesn’t even know what exactly Steve  _ wants _ , except that he probably can’t give it. Things are easier since he and Clint linked up, a natural place for Bucky to work through his emotions, but that doesn’t necessarily change anything about how he and Steve interact directly. Sam, for his part, just looks annoyed.

“JARVIS, don’t let these idiots out of the apartment until they’ve at least said  _ something _ about their feelings to each other. And preferably about what they want out of each other now, not what they were doing in 1938 or whatever.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Great. I’m out.” 

Steve stares at the door indignantly, spluttering a bit, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “ _ What _ ?”

“Just… your face.” Bucky grins. “You look like your best friend just confessed to supporting the Yankees.” 

“You would never commit such an atrocity,” Steve replies with confidence, crossing his arms over his chest, and Bucky smirks, tipping his chair back on two legs, feet hooked under a bar supporting the dining room table. 

“I was an  _ assassin _ .” 

“Yeah, and I stand by what I just said,” Steve quips, glaring for a moment before his expression shifts into a grin. Bucky grins back. 

“Well, you’re not wrong. Even seventy years of brainwashing ain’t gonna make me a  _ Yankees _ fan…”

Steve chuckles, giving Bucky a look that’s entirely fond. “So I talked to Sam. He thinks I’ve been an idiot with you.” 

“Yeah? You sure he doesn’t just think you’re an idiot all-around? Sam has pretty high standards.”

Steve snorts. “No, he gave me some pretty specific feedback. He thinks… some of the ideas I have about links, or maybe some of the ideas we  _ both  _ used to have… well maybe you still do…” He trails off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “He warned me that I’m scaring you off. Because you don’t know me the same way you did, and you think I want more from you than you can give. And maybe I don’t know how to want something different.”

“Right.” Bucky sighs, letting his chair clack back to all four legs and scrubbing his hands over his thighs. “I don’t even know exactly what I  _ can _ give,” he admits, eyes fixed on the far counter. “I guess… I  _ remember _ feeling comfortable with you. All my memories are full of that feeling. But I don’t know how to make it real again. It might not be possible.”

“What if…”

“No, wait.” Bucky’s eyes cut back to Steve’s face, and he wants more than anything to just be able to comfort the man and tell him it will be all right, but that’s not doing anyone a service. “You need to know what it’s like for me, those memories. I know for you they’re all happy times you wanna recreate, but for me… I just keep being reminded of what HYDRA took from me… from  _ you _ . Steve… those memories aren’t  _ me _ anymore. They’re just this echo that I can’t grab onto, and I  _ hate _ …” Bucky pauses, realizing that he’s gripping the edges of his chair so hard that the wood is starting to creak in protest. “I don’t think you’ve realized it yet,” he continues a little more quietly, forcing his fingers to relax and open. “But they took your Bucky Barnes away from you, and I can’t give him back. I hate myself for that, sometimes. Especially when I have dreams about how he used to make you smile.” 

Bucky can’t look up, and it’s silent in the kitchen for a long moment, before the scrape of wooden chair legs heralds Steve scooting closer, reaching to put a hand slowly on Bucky’s knee, in his line of sight.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, not for… I’m sorry I’ve been putting so much pressure on you. I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, really. But I can change,” Steve promises, low and earnest. Bucky looks up at that, manages a small smile for him. “I never wanted to make you feel like  _ you _ weren’t enough for me. This you, right now. I just… I’m scared.” He says that so quietly that a regular human wouldn’t have heard, even sitting this close, and Bucky can’t remember ever hearing those words from Steve Rogers’ mouth. Maybe, despite the memory gaps, he never has. “I’m really, really scared that  _ I’m _ not what you need anymore, and I… I don’t know what to do without you,” he admits. “I was such a wreck, thinking you were dead, but not just that. I’ve felt lost for so long, and I really didn’t know who to tell.”

“Sam?” Bucky suggests, laying his flesh hand gently on top of Steve’s, wanting to give his friend at least that comfort. “He’s a good listener.” 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “I’ve talked to him some. I just… after they pulled me out of the ice, I had this time to get used to everything I’d ever cared about being gone. This was before Sam, before we knew you were alive. I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore, and I knew I’d been grieving too long by any reasonable standard, but then you were back and it was like… maybe I didn’t have to face the fact that I’d been mourning my old life for too long, maybe it was some kind of sign that I had been right to cling to the past. I guess I’m still doing that.”

“Steve…”

“I’m not like you and Tony,” Steve continues with a sad smile. “This future stuff isn’t so easy for me.” 

“Goddamnit, Steve. Come here,” Bucky insists, pushing up from his chair and dragging Steve to his feet, and then wrapping his arms around the other man until something in his frame releases and he just lets Bucky hold him for a while. They’re well-matched, physically, not the way Bucky remembers when he has those flashes, but Steve’s not too proud to sink against Bucky’s frame a bit, let Bucky hold some of his weight. When his breathing eases out, Bucky leads him to the sofa, and they sit down side-by-side, still close. 

“You were always so stubborn,” Bucky declares, and Steve’s sheepish look confirms that his memories are up to snuff. “Can you at least try talking to someone? Not Sam, I mean. A professional.” Steve makes a face like he’s eaten something rotten, but Bucky nudges him insistently. “I’m serious. I didn’t want to either, but it helps.” 

“I know,” Steve sighs. “They made me do it after the Battle of New York. I just don’t like being…” He trails off and flexes his fingers, taking a breath rather than finishing his sentence. “I’ll  _ try _ .”

“Good enough.” This time, Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s knee, and they sit quietly for a while like that. It’s not comfortable the way he remembers, but it’s nice. 

“Tell me what you need,” Steve murmurs after maybe ten minutes have passed. “It doesn’t have to look anything like before. I just… want a chance.”

Bucky exhales slowly, thumb rubbing at the denim of Steve’s jeans. “I want to give you a chance,” he admits. “I feel like an asshole, though. I don’t want to make you tiptoe around me when things are so easy with Clint, by contrast, and it feels like I’m happy with him while I’m breaking your heart at the same damn time.” 

“Why?” Bucky looks up, and Steve’s frowning. “I  _ like _ seeing you with Clint. It’s been a relief, seeing you happy with him. I wouldn’t want you not to have that.”

“Oh.” Bucky thinks for a moment, trying to see Steve’s point of view. He realizes this is new for them—he’d had girlfriends, back in the day, but never anything that had stuck long enough to be called a link, no one Steve actually saw him protecting from day-to-day. It makes sense, really, when he thinks about it. 

“Maybe… we could just try starting fresh?” Bucky offers. “I know you can’t  _ forget _ the past, neither can I, but… it would be nice to spend some time where we don’t talk about before. Where I’m not afraid of what I will and won’t remember, and can get to know you again.” 

“Sure, Buck.” Steve’s smile is sunshine incarnate, and gun-shy as he is, Bucky can see why he fell in love with the man the first go-round. “I would like that. Maybe… I could take you out on a date? Get out of the Tower?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, and Steve’s pleasure at the idea is contagious, forcing something small but significant inside him to release.  

~*~ 

Their first date is at a fried chicken joint in Harlem, where nobody gives them any trouble, even if a couple of the other customers do recognize Steve. Bucky’s surprised, honestly, that Steve doesn’t take him to Brooklyn, but when he asks, Steve explains with a blush and a nervous little rub at the back of his neck that he wanted to take this whole “getting past his memories” fresh start thing seriously. It’s kind of endearing, and knowing that Steve’s making the effort does help. They talk about some of Steve’s exploits as an Avenger, and then the conversation shifts to what Bucky actually gets up to in his free time, outside of mandatory SHIELD meetings and therapy appointments, when Steve’s not around to hover. 

“Comic books?” Steve gives him a very skeptical look. “Like… the ones about us?” 

“No, you idiot.” Bucky rolls his eyes and gestures with a drumstick. “Not everything is about you.” Steve laughs and sips at his sweet tea.

“All right, what then?”   


“Well, there are loads. I can get whatever I want on my Starkpad, really. You’ve got superhero comics, sure, but there are a million series out there, not even just the published big-name stuff, but webcomics, too.”   


“Web...comics?”

“Yeah, stuff that’s just put up on the Internet, like there’s no print version. Anyone who wants to can draw one and post it online, and some of them have thousands of readers.”

“Huh.” Steve seems to be considering it seriously as he digs into his double-helping of mac and cheese, and Bucky thinks of Steve’s ever-present sketchpad, wonders if he could get Stark to help him transition to a drawing tablet.

“I like the sci-fi comics the best, but they might not be your thing. I could show you what else is out there.”

Steve smiles, fond, and points his fork at Bucky. “You always did love those sci-fi novels,” he remarks, but then presses his lips together, looking guilty.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Bucky reaches out, presses his hand over the back of Steve’s on the table despite the fact that it’s pretty greasy right now. “I’m not gonna shout at you for remembering something occasionally, Steve.”

“I know. I just… I’m trying.”

“I know you are.” Bucky smiles. “I remember some of those books, sometimes. But the comics are even better. The art’s just… it’s so cool, what people can imagine. And it’s not just all the same guys with the same perspective writing, either, it’s more… democratized, I guess. I’m gonna send you the first volume of  _ Saga _ , I think you might really like it.”   


“Sure, Buck.” Steve grins. “If you can show me how to use my Starkpad, I’m in.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, snorts, drizzles hot sauce on another piece of chicken. He’s seen Steve use that damn thing plenty, reading mission reports and the Sunday paper. Steve’s “but I’m from the past!” schtick never really works with him, but then again, it’s funny enough to watch him mess with Tony.

“One of these days, I’m gonna load that thing with porn, and figure out how to make it come up remotely during a debriefing. It would serve you right.”

Steve just leans back and smirks at him. “I don’t know. Depends on the porn.”

“Terrible. I don’t even know you. Who is this man?” Bucky asks, turning dramatically from side to side. Of course, everyone at the adjoining tables ignores him. Steve manages the most shit-eating grin, even with his lips pursed around his straw.

~*~

When they relocate to the compound, Bucky misses their dates out in the city, but he also can’t complain about the late night walks in the woods or the long motorcycle rides, sharing a single bike. He still doesn’t feel up to sex with Steve, exactly, even as the months progress—the idea of bottoming like he used to still gives him a very uneasy feeling in his stomach. But Steve’s much happier, and it’s obvious, now that they hold hands regularly and share kisses from time to time. Sometimes the making out gets heated, even, though Bucky’s had to tap out a couple of times when he felt trapped in the middle of it. It’s not perfect, but it works.

When he has down time, though, Bucky can’t help but conjure up the memories, much clearer now than they were at first, of how Steve used to take him. He wasn’t quite as rough, maybe, as Bucky himself is as a top, but it was still a power exchange, and Steve definitely had the upper hand. He remembers the sparks between them, marveling at how this tiny kid could have him on his back, begging for more, feeling a little shameful at the level of his desire but also absurdly grateful at the space Steve created for it. He also remembers how safe he felt after their sessions, held, protected. The whole thing makes him a little wistful, but it also gives him an idea.

“So, I was thinking....”

“Always dangerous,” Clint immediately chimes in, and Bucky cuffs him gently on the back of the head without even looking. They’ve been watching the baseball game on the giant common area TV together, in an easy camaraderie, and the rest of the area’s empty of fellow Avengers for the moment. Nothing in particular is on the agenda for the rest of the day, unless they get an alert, and Bucky’s feeling loose and easy between the two of them on the sofa.

“I was  _ thinking _ ,” he continues, addressing Steve, “about how you used to top me.”    


Both men go still at that, Steve’s eyes widening a bit. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t get too excited,” Bucky amends quickly, not wanting Steve to get his hopes up, thinking Bucky’s ready for that. “But I was thinking… I suspect Clint would like your style.” Clint, for his part, doesn’t shift at all, but Bucky hears his sharp inhale and barrels on. “I mean, you’re my protector, right? I trust you with him. And maybe…” Now Bucky’s cheeks heat a bit, and he can’t quite meet Steve’s eyes. “If you can’t have me that way, maybe my boy’s the next best thing?” 

“Oh,” Steve murmurs, looking just kind of stunned for a moment when Bucky looks up again. But then his mouth curls into a little mischievous Rogers grin. “So like, a proxy-fuck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “and I can watch.” Next to him, Clint makes a sound a little like a squeak.

“Hi, yes, consenting enthusiastically,” Clint babbles, and Bucky trades his own grin with Steve before he turns and grabs Clint by the throat, lightning-quick, cutting off any further speech. Clint’s eyes glaze over immediately as Bucky chokes him, and Bucky’s expression goes sharp. 

“Down,” he snaps, and Clint drops to his knees the moment he can slide out of Bucky’s grip.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve grins, squeezing Bucky’s knee. “I could have fun with this.” Bucky laughs, his chest feeling light, and tugs Clint over by the hair to crawl in front of Steve. “Anything major I need to know?” Steve asks, petting over Clint’s hair and down the back of his neck, using his nails so that Clint lets out a soft sigh. “I’m thinking I want to slap him around a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely on the table,” Bucky smirks, tucking his legs up in the space Clint vacated and leaning against Steve as he watches his protector and best friend pet his submissive. “He likes pain. He’s not gonna fight back much.”

“I mean, I  _ could _ ,” Clint mutters towards the floor. “If that’s what you wanted.”

“Nah,” Steve dismisses the idea. “I like you willing.” He fists his hand in Clint’s hair, earning a groan, and moves the boy’s cheek to rest against his inner thigh. “What else?”

“No straight-up orgasm denial. You can make him hold back, but if you work him up, let him come.” It’s not a limit, but it makes Clint twitchy, and he has to be delicate with it, so Bucky’d rather not risk the attempt with company. “Don’t obstruct his vision. And be as careful as you would with anyone unenhanced, but like I said, he likes pain.” 

“All right,” Steve smiles. “That gives me something to go on. How much do you want to participate?” 

Bucky considers that for a moment, his hand rubbing at Steve’s thigh while he thinks. “I think I’d prefer to watch.” What he doesn’t say is that staying out of it will let him focus on how Steve tops, and where that takes him, in his head, will be nobody’s business but his own. “I’ll give you suggestions if I think you need them.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a challenge?”

“Nah.” Bucky kisses his cheek and pushes up to his feet. “C’mon. My suite.” 

~*~

Clint’s certainly not any  _ less  _ pretty naked when Bucky isn’t the one who got him that way, but Bucky’s attention is almost entirely on Steve right now as his protector crowds Clint up against the wall, thumb rasping against Clint’s lightly stubbled jaw. Clint’s face is pink from several hard slaps to the cheek, and Steve’s expression is deeply hungry.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he orders, voice low enough that Bucky can only hear from the armchair in the corner because of his enhanced hearing. Clint nods, but Steve doesn’t go straight for showy violence, instead digging his thumb into a pressure point at Clint’s jaw. His eyes are sharp on Clint’s, and Bucky can see from Clint’s reactions, the changes in his breathing, how Steve gradually increases the pressure until Clint’s whimpering. Steve smiles a little, licks his lips, and Bucky silently presses his palm against his erection. He plans to stay fully dressed, and he was serious about not participating, but he’s still human. And there’s something in that impish look that Bucky recognizes, that he knows he’s seen dozens of times before even if he can’t recall the specifics. 

Just when Bucky thinks Clint might be about to call mercy, Steve releases his jaw suddenly and slams both hands against Clint’s chest, the impact making a dull thud of sound. Clint gasps and Steve does it again, then keeps his hands in place, pressing in against Clint’s body. Bucky watches as he digs in with the heels of his hands, gives them a grinding twist. Clint bites back his groan, and Steve drops one hand to pinch his nipple. From Clint’s cry, it must be vicious. 

“Don’t keep quiet. I like hearing you.” 

“Ah! I’ll try. Pr - oh! -fessional habit,” Clint explains as Steve lowers his head to that nipple and bites, his other hand still grinding against pectoral muscle. 

“Understandable,” Steve concedes, licking over the skin he’s just abused. “Still gonna hold you to it,” he adds with a grin, straightening up and punching Clint once in the chest with the side of his fist. Clint shouts, and then grins right back.

This is something Bucky remembers well, the cheekiness of Steve’s style as a top, the way he goes for what he wants hedonistically, but never takes himself completely seriously unless the situation requires it. He punches Clint a few more times in the chest, moving with Clint’s body, and then gives him a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. When he drags Clint to the floor by the hair, Bucky finds himself leaning forward unintentionally in his chair, perched on the edge of the seat. Steve kicks Clint back, the other man landing in an inelegant sprawl, and then grinds one boot into his chest, right over the area he’s just been working over. Clint’s cry of pain would have Bucky reacting like a predator on the scent of his blood any other time, but now he focuses on how hungry Steve looks, how satisfied he is with the evidence of Clint’s pain. 

Steve’s “good boy,” is rough, a little wrecked, as he moves his boot to Clint’s inner thigh, kicking his legs apart and then pushing the sole against tender skin there. He braces with one hand on the wall, looming over Clint, and gives the thigh in question a few light kicks before moving to the other for symmetrical treatment. 

“Are you getting nervous?” Steve asks suddenly, casual as anything. Clint blinks in confusion, but before he can say anything, Steve’s boot shifts to pin him with a light pressure against his balls. “About how much of a sadist I might be?” Bucky can see the angle of his foot shift, just barely. A little more pressure. Clint sucks in a breath.

“Sir,” he mumbles, fuzzy, a tone Bucky knows well. Steve smiles like a shark. 

“You know I’m an all-around good guy,” he continues. Shrugs. Applies a bit more pressure. “You can trust that. But I  _ do _ like the smell of your fear.” 

Bucky swallows, hard.  _ This _ part of Steve he doesn’t remember at all. Is it new, since the war? Since Steve got a little more jaded? Since he woke up on the wrong side of the 20th century? Or is it a response to Clint, who’s definitely more of a masochist than Bucky ever was? He might ask later, but for now he’s watching Steve get his cock out, give it a long, firm stroke. 

“Good boy. Nice and still for me. Don’t let me slip.”  _ Punk _ , Bucky thinks, out of left field. Steve Rogers is way tricksier than anyone gives him credit for, but Bucky’s pretty sure he knew that already. Clint, of course, takes him at his word, only whimpering loudly when Steve presses with the sole of his boot, but not scooting back (or grinding up). Steve gives himself a rather leisurely handjob, watching Clint’s face, occasionally shifting or varying the pressure to get more of those pained noises out of him. Bucky’s 90% sure he just plans to come on Clint’s face (which, fair, Clint will eat it up—literally) when Steve suddenly stops working himself, plants his foot on the ground next to Clint’s hip, and drags Clint up by the hair and onto his cock. Clint falters, struggling to get his knees under him at first, and for a second is mostly just balanced by that hand in his hair. It must hurt, a  _ lot _ , but Clint doesn’t use a safe signal as Steve forces himself down Clint’s throat. He gets his feet under him first, in a crouch, and then tips onto his knees, grabbing Steve’s thighs for balance. He probably needs it, rough as Steve is, making Clint choke and splutter despite his experience. Bucky actually rises from his chair, quietly, slipping along the wall, just so that he can get a better view of Steve’s face in profile when he comes. 

It is  _ monumentally _ worth it.


End file.
